Opera Noir
by Punjabchild
Summary: Present day New York City: PI Samantha Cunningham is drawn into the strange events of the opera world. In her pursuit of the truth and money she becomes hopelessly entangled in the mystery of the Opera Ghost.
1. Chapter 1

Opera Noir

By Punjabchild

I've decided to take a stab at phan phiction story in a film noir setting. (If you don't know what that means, please look it up) This story takes place in modern day New York City in it's own (slight) AU.

1.The characters act and resemble the stock characters in the film noir world (Femme fatale etc.)  
2.There is not previous knowledge of the Phantom of the Opera story. No book, no musical…hence a re-telling.

Red Tape: While POTO is in public domain, I do not own any of the characters (except Sam and any other original characters). This is a piece for entertainment to be enjoyed be fellow fan readers. These characters are based of "The Phantom of the Opera" by Gaston Leroux

And while he will never read this, (or barely remembers my name or that he had me in class) this story goes out to Professor Eisenstien…this is his entire fault.

And without further adieu……

Opera Noir

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Act One: Dirty Laundry

Chapter One

Samantha Cunningham felt uneasy staring down another person. Not only was it rude and childish, it also made her eyes dry. However, this business was as cut throat as survival in the jungle. If a lion wanted to assert its dominance, you would accept the challenge.

Carlotta Giudicelli was that lion, and she stared down at Sam with cold green eyes, the shade of glass in cheap beer bottles. Sam never let her own gaze falter from the diva, who now took turns from staring at her and her business card that Carlotta held in a pinched grip. After a few glances of disbelief, the diva sighed and tossed the card down on the large vanity. She turned her back on Sam to continue primping herself in the mirror as she spoke.

"You came highly recommended, but they never mentioned you were a women." She commented.

Sam relaxed her gaze as well as her feet, taking her left leg off her right and slumping slightly in the white antique chair. "I'm not sure what the problem is, Signora. I'm S. Cunningham, same name that is on the card."

The red haired woman turned again to face her, cracking a sly smile. "Well than I gather there aren't many women in your profession? Are there, Samantha?" She drew out her full name like an insult.

"I reckon not. And please, no one calls me Samantha." She informed the diva

"You mean no one calls you by your given name nowadays. You've established a career name for yourself is that it."

Sam dug her nails harder into her clenched palm. "People _never_ call me Samantha, Signora. But we are not here to discuss my problems, we here because of yours." She retorted.

That seemed to shut her up. She muttered something in Italian focusing on as set of curls dangling next to her cheek. The woman demanded that Sam remove her coat when she came in and leave it outside. She exclaimed abruptly that it 'reeked of smoke' and that she couldn't have any toxins threaten her singing voice. However, Sam had notice a distinct scent of tobacco from the diva's hair as she passed by, and it was certainly a different brand than the one Sam preferred.

The décor of the dressing room was a disgustingly tacky mixture of deep greens of the original interior mixed with the diva's obsession over the color pink. There were pink roses, coats, feathers and all manner of trinket in different shades of pink. The only wall not covered by a mirror, was home to a large picture of the diva. It was an enlargement of a cover of "Opera Magazine" featuring her. The woman's gaze on paper was as harsh as in real life.

La Carlotta peered at the reader beneath a mass of red sausage curls. Her blood red lips were slightly open in a position that was supposed to be alluring, and they stood out against the too pale foundation she wore. As if the color of her eyes weren't striking and obvious enough, it had been highlighted with smoky eyeliner and emerald shadow. Two spots seemed to stick out on the apple of her cheek. The stylist must have been blind and the photographer had too much light in his eyes when they chose this shot. It also proved how much of an arrogant fool Carlotta was to take so much pride in this image.

"Whenever you're ready to talk, signora." Sam informed her.

The diva slammed down her hair brush and got up finally from her table. She picked up a picture frame and marched over to have a seat by Sam. She trusted the picture at her in a huff.

"Do you know who this is?" she asked.

Calmly, she took the picture frame and studied it. It was the portrait of a middle aged man, dressed for a role in the opera. He had two more chins than he needed, and his lips were puckered in an unattractive manner.

"No, I don't recognize this person." She informed Carlotta.

"Good because you will be seeing a lot of him soon. This is my husband, Ubaldo Piangi, principle tenor at the opera." Sam had to stifle a laugh. Carlotta had _this_ picture of her husband in a frame, and actually showed it to people.

"So let me guess, you have suspicions your husband has been unfaithful to you recently?" she inquired.

From the several rapid blinks that greeted her question, Sam knew she shouldn't have used so many big words.

"Yes, my Ubaldo has been seeing other women I'm sure about it. I mean we go to parties and benefits, and we never return home at the same time. Some time he won't show up for a day or two. When I ask him where he has been, he just claimed that he partied too hard and stayed there all night." Carlotta drummed her fingers on her velvet clad knee. "However, when I ask my friends who were at the party with us, they claim they didn't see him at all that night."

"Well…" Sam started

"I know well that the people I get my information from might have been too drunk that night to remember were he ran off too, but I trust them more. He must think I am stupid." She snorted. "That's why I want to hire you Ms. Cunningham, a reliable source who can monitor my husband's affairs for me, while sober." She added.

"I suppose you want pictures then." Sam asked.

"I want everything!" Carlotta corrected her. "Ever bit of dirt you can find. I want to know who he's seeing, their names, ages, height, weight…"

"I get the picture." Sam interrupted.

"I'll make sure you even get full VIP access to the opera so you can monitor him better. I can arrange it with the manager since I have them both under my thumb." She continued on.

Sam leaned forward in her chair, interlacing her fingers slightly. "Ma'am, have you ever confronted your husband about this issue before?"

"You mean asked him if he has been cheating?" From her tone, it was clear this idea had never crossed her mind.

"Yes, it's something I need to know about each of my clients before I take them on." Sam replied.

"My dear, in this world I can't be accused of knowing about my husband's infidelity and simpling asking him. We just can't skip off hand in hand to a marriage counselor. What would my public think of me if word got out? Celebrities like my husband and I have to keep up a certain reputation."

_Celebrities? Hardly…_

"So hiring a private investigator to spy on your husband and show you every bit of proof that he is having an affair is a better solution?" Sam asked.

The diva leaned forward, batting her lasses which were heavily crusted in mascara. "I consider it this option to be far more…operatic!" she exclaimed and then let out a sputtering high chuckle. Her laugh would have startled Sam into a facial grimace, but she control her disgusted reaction by letting her leg twitch instead.

"Charming notion signora." Sam commented. She paused taking her last moment to consider if she would actually do this. "All right then, seven thousand plus expenses." She offered.

It was now the diva's turn to give a surprise twitch. "Seven thousand! You can't be serious? " She said, rising out of her chair and returning to her vanity.

"What year do you think this is, ma'am? Trust me; this is a low price tag for a high profile case such as this."

"But how long do you think it will take? Is that why the price is so high?"

Sam sighed. She had been given this lecture before. "You think it won't be worth your money if I don't find anything. That I should cut my salary in half if I watch him for a week and see nothing. I can't assume that he's innocent or guilty after a few days. It's like I tell all my clients. If you don't see me for a few weeks, you can assume that he's cheating and if you don't hear from me in for a few weeks that mean he's clean. You see, my business is a lot more complicated than most people think."

Carlotta picked up a bottle of fragrance and applied an ample amount around her neck. "I suppose when you put it that way but…"

Sam interrupted her once more. "If you want be to devote all my time on following you husband, to watch his every move while he is at the opera, you will have to pay for the expense of me not being able to take on any other cases to support myself. Time is money ma'am…only my time is just pricey than others."

"The woman I got your card from said you are worth it." She said in a tone that Sam might have mistaken for a compliment.

"I'm worth every penny." She replied coolly. "Besides if I was referred to you by a friend, shouldn't that speak well towards my taste in clientèle" She added on her charm as thick as it would go. She reached down to the floor to grab her briefcase. "When might I see you again to sign our contract?" she asked.

Again the woman looked at her surprised. "You mean we aren't going to sign one right now?"

"I like to give my clients time to think it over. Sleep on it, if you will?" She informed her.

Carlotta pulled at one of her curls again. "Then I'll only need one night. My mind is very certain on these issues. I can meet you tomorrow if you would tell me were you office was."

"Oh no ma'am!" Sam started in a phony tone of admiration. "I can't ask you to play my salary and then have you unconvinced by coming to my office. I can meet you anytime at the opera if you like. I enjoy making house calls."

Carlotta smiled. She had bought it, giving Sam further proof that she was a better performer than the dive who couldn't see through that cloud of bull. "Wonderful, I shall arrange a meeting with the managers tomorrow. We started rehearsal at eleven, but Ubaldo always has a habit of arriving late. So I take the car and leave him to fetch a taxi. Perhaps you can wait outside then and see if you catch him up to anything."

"Understood." Sam replied, gathering her things and rushing towards the door. "Signora, if your husband happens to see us together, please do be crafty and make up an excuse." Sam reminded her while she stood at the threshold to the diva's dressing room. "You could say I'm a theater critic, a photographer or…"

"A costume buyer!" the diva exclaimed.

Sam tried desperately not to cock her left eyebrow. "A what?"

"That sounds more suitable. You are working for the costume department, securing luxury fabrics from Europe for my latest gowns. That sounds perfect, don't you think Miss. Cunningham?" she asked

"Of course, signora" Sam cringed for she knew nothing about costumes, luxury fabric and hadn't even been to Europe. She slipped her suit jacket on and held her hat out in front of her chest. "Than you'll be seeing me tomorrow, but please don't make any fuss when you see me. It will be a pleasure doing business with you ma'am." She said, lying through her teeth.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

It wasn't that Sam needed the money; she was well off for the time being. She just couldn't have people in wealthy society know she refused a case. She could just tell that this was going to be more of a pain that she bargained for. So within twenty four hours she was already on assignment.

Sam fidgeted with her camera underneath her bulky trench. She has wandered around the opera's perimeter for the past half hour. At eleven she planted herself at the main entrance, waiting for her target's late arrival.

It wasn't time yet for the lunch rush but still the street was surprisingly busy. Hoards of people and taxi shuffled in and out of the surrounding building and blocks. However in the sea of yellow cabs, there was one that had particularly caught her attention

It had been parked on the curb for at least a minute, and Sam had noticed some unusual shadows pressed against the glass. She pulled out her camera and used the powerful zoom lens to get a closer look. She saw Piangi getting very familiar with a young lady in the back seat. There where a few moments were he lifted his head from her neck in which Sam could see his trademark mustache and awkward thinning hair line. That verified her suspicions and she immediately started snapping away at the capture button.

She continued as the two kept necking for another minute or so, knowing that they were distracted. He finally pulled away from the girl long enough to pay his fare, before exiting the cab. Sam took a mental notation. She had often seen this behavior in the men she followed. It almost seemed a thrill to have an encounter with their mistress in a cab, letting them be dropped off at another stop a few blocks away. This kept their wives in the dark and allowed for an easy rendezvous with the other women later.

Sam kept taking pictures until Piangi finally turned in her direction and headed up the stairs. She then turned her camera upward and started taking snapshots of the skyline. The advantage of being a PI in New York was that you always had an easy disguise for taking pictures; pretend you're a tourist. She plastered a goofy grin on her face and started speaking in Russian. She had taught herself a few basic phrases in the major languages to help her in her trade. She even turned from the sky and pointed the camera in his face. With a phony smile, sunglasses and a few more choice words in Russian, she had him totally fooled.

It was a very brazen move.

He brushed her off and continued inside.

Sam waited a while before tucking her camera back into her coat and heading inside. Shedding her bulky trench and bent hat, revealed her as a totally different person. She had decided to wear one of her favorite suits, her "lucky suit" as she called it. It was a classic gray pinstripe with a wide leg trouser. She had also acquired the same fabric from the suit's designer label and had a tailor make her a matching vest. A patch of her light pink blouse poking from underneath her collars and her black pumps gave her a touch of feminine flare.

The click of her heels echoed on the marble floors as she blended in perfectly into the opera's world. Following the sounds of voices, she made her way to the auditorium. Her appearance caused the door man to let her pass without question.

The sound of her shoes were muffled by the rich carpet spanning the aisle way. The great hall was decorated with soft peach walls with delicate art nouveau designs crawling up the sides and edges like spider webs. The lush colors of chocolate brown and gold in the upholstery contrasted with the thick dark color of the carpet and floors.

On the stage most of the performers were dressed in causal clothes, and the orchestra was dressed even plainer. All except Carlotta who wore a gauzy blouse and mid length skirt that you would expect to find on the junior's rack at Bloomingdale's.

There were also two other men in dress clothes that caught her attention. She could only assume these two were the managers. Sam fingered the business cards in her pocket as she approached them. As she got closer, Carlotta looked up from her music and starred straight at her. Piagni who was next to her, followed her gaze in turn.

"Idiot…" Sam muttered under her breath and she lowered her head and walked quicker. Once she reached the two men she turned on her heels sharply to address them. "Good morning, gentlemen. My name is Sam Cunningham and I believe Ms. Giudicelli. spoke to you about our arrangement yesterday." She explained.

One of the men, the short of the two with a close shaven head looked at her confused. The other, a man at least a foot taller than his companion with graying hair and his jacket draped over his shoulder, simply rolled his eyes, obviously annoyed by his partner's confusion. However, Sam quickly pulled out one of her cards handing it to him.

The shorter man's eyes lit up and his private realization was greeted by a sigh from his partner. "Oh yes, Ms. Cunningham. Yes we were expecting you and uh…thank you for your promptness." He stumbled over his words.

"Think nothing of it Mister…" Sam inquired.

"Mr. Richard, the managing director." The taller man cut it. "And this is Mr. McClure, our artistic director. We should conduct _this_ sort of business else where. Would you follow me to our office?"

"Please, lead the way." Sam agreed wanting to leave the room as quickly as possible, for she could hear Carlotta and her husband chattering behind her as he questioned Sam's identity. Following swiftly on Richard's heels out of the auditorium, she made her way back down the intricate maze of hallways that made up the opera. They passed through the administration part of the building, crossing rows of uniformed gray desks and cubicles. Even at their quick pace, McClure still had time to offer a polite "hello" to his employees as he walked by. There were no windows in the office, Sam noted. _How depressing._

They came towards the end of the room, where a large set of doors engulfed the entire wall. Richard took a key from his pocket and opened the doors.

Steeping over the threshold, she was greeted by the warm sunlight pouring through the windows that the previous room had been void of. The grand space was decorated in the classic shades of hunter green and mahogany, and littered with antique and eclectic décor. Two identical secretary desks flanked the largest windows and were bursting with book. Sam gathered they were mostly for show. In fact, the whole room seemed one big decoration. _Did any one do any actual work in this room?_

"Please have a seat Miss Cunningham." McClure offered, pulling out a large high back chair for her convenience. Sam took a seat and McClure took the chair next to her. Richard took the more official position behind a large ornate desk.

"Well, I have to start off by saying that I hope my work here doesn't interfere with your operation. Ms. Giudicelli tells me you are opening a show next week. First one of the season if I'm correct." Sam offered.

"Yes, tech rehearsal week can be a stressful time for any company." Richard commented off-hand.

"Well then I'll try to stay out of your way as much as possible."

McClure leaned in closer to her. "Miss Cunningham, I know the answer is no, but I have to ask. What exactly is your business with La Carlotta?"

Sam sighed. "I'm sorry sir, but my dealings with the client in question are very personal and of course confidential. However I can tell you it is not an internal investigation into the opera management." She added.

McClure let out a hearty laugh and bent his face down. Sam was so assumed by her own cleverness that she allowed herself a chuckle on her behalf and even the stern faced Richard let a smile crack over his thin lips.

Richard reached into the desk and pulled out a large manila envelope. "Well we have all the items that Ms. Giudicelli asked us to acquire for you; a key card for access to the opera and any time, used responsibly of course."

Sam nodded "Of course." She reached over the desk to take the envelope but Richard hesitated.

"However I must ask if you would be willing to do a favor for us in exchange." He added.

"I don't do favors." Sam shot back coldly. She felt like slamming her fist down on the desk in frustration. It was bad enough that she knew this client was going to be a headache, but she did want to put up with anything else. She pulled back into her chair and took a deep breath. "That seems a bit hostile Mr. Richard, and I'm not fond of people who purposely interfere with _my_ work."

McClure obvious senses her discomfort. "Oh wait, you don't understand. It's not really a favor…" he shot an annoyed glace at his partner. "But actually a job."

"What sort of job?" Sam asked, knowing that they had obviously found out her profession, no doubt from Carlotta's big mouth.

Richard once again went for his desk and pulled out a stack of paper. He held them tight is his hands and leaned over to set them in front of her.

"So what are these?" Sam asked annoyed.

"We were hoping you could tell us. About three years ago, out first season as co-mangers to be exact, we started to become the victims of several nuisances. Things went missing; little things at first but then more expensive items like costumes and antique props. Then equipment was been tampered with and we received strange reports from the housekeepers. We thought it was just some 'bad blood' from some of the company members upset about the management switching hands. Then security informed us they had been seeing someone in the building late at night, but were unable to track or catch them. The dancers and chorus girls started to complain about someone lurking around the dressing rooms and then the letters started."

"So what, you're chasing a 'ghost' around?" Sam joked.

"Precisely, in fact this person calls themselves the Opera Ghost" McClure chimed in, his eyes focused on the stack of letters as if they were a basket full of cobras.

Sam let out a laugh under breath. "The Opera Ghost? How original." She commented sarcastically.

"Yeah, we thought it was a joke at first. There were requests for us to pay the ghost a monthly salary of 10,000 dollars and demanding his own private box." McClure continued tensely.

"And you ignored it?" Sam asked.

"Of course we did!" McClure assured her and then he lowered his eyes to the floor. "Regrettably." he added in a hollow tone.

"Do you care to elaborate on that Mr. McClure?" Sam pried.

"The ghost managed to do some fancy bookkeeping. The money he demanded suddenly turned up missing. We fired almost half our accounting and payroll staff because we thought they had been taking it." Richard explained

"Poor folks." McClure commented sadly. "Our mistake has probably cost most of their reputations"

"Even after all that, we still kept coming up short every month. So he got his money, most of it anyway. After that we had several season subscribers complain about odd noises coming from their 'haunted box'. It became impossible to sell. So he got his private box too." Continued Richard.

"Forgive me for being blunt sirs, but you don't have a ghost. You have a thief!" Sam pointed out.

Richard furrowed his brows in annoyance. "I'm aware of that and I don't believe in ghosts! But I'm telling you I have cameras all over this building and still these events keep occurring."  
"Also the requests turned into threats." McClure added. He reached slowly across the desk, picked up a letter and unfolded it slowly before handing it to her.

Sam ran her fingers around the crisp edges. The paper was of a heavier weight, probably pricing if she had a guess. The author had chosen it for this specific purpose. The ink was a very dark red and in a labored handwriting. The letters seemed to run together and if the author had been in hurry. Sam scrolled over the first letter.

_Dear Mr. Managers_

_I must again insist that you do not sell my private box. I was most displeased to find it occupied during last night performance. Do not consider my threat an idle one. If you wish me to leave your company and performers __in peace__ you will give me back my private box._

_ Your obedient servant _

_ O.G._

Sam raised her left eyebrow and glanced over the paper at the managers who were watching her intently. She picked up another letter and read it.

_Dear Mr. Managers_

_For the following evenings performance of you will have Miss Daae play the role of Fidelio. Never mine about Carlotta, __she will be ill_

_ Your obedient servant _

_ O.G._

"These do not seem so earth shattering, sir." Sam noted and picked up a third note.

_Your night watchmen should be more careful when wandering around the cellars. They could end up losing their heads._

_Consider this a fair warning._

_ O.G._

Sam let the letter rest face up on the desk.

"See what I mean." Richard commented. "After that, most of my night security staff walked off the job."

"Yes…well forgive me for not taking you seriously gentlemen, but isn't this a matter for the police?"

"We need more proof. We just can't go to the police about this without any hard evidence. We'd look like fools!" he explained.

"So we needed someone to investigate the matter. Someone besides the law." McClure added.

Sam lowered her lids so they couldn't see her roll her eyes. "Someone like me."

"Exactly." Richard pointed out.

"This isn't really the sort of case I take on. I mean, gentlemen you could have a murder on your hands." She pressed a hand down the opened letters. "Possibly one involving my client. If you believe this person would be willing to kill just so he can enjoy the opera to his perfectionist taste, then you need to take this to the police. There could be serious consequences if these incidents were not reported earlier, especially if these threats became real."

"So wanting to protect the welfare of your client, you might reconsider our offer." Richard informed her.

"Have you listened to anything I've been saying?" Sam snapped. "This seems rather close to extortion. You won't give me the items I need to serve my client unless I take your job offer and in turn, start an investigation on your behalf. I'm obviously at a stalemate."

"We're not trying to be deceitful. We will give you the items you need." McClure assured her, wrestling the envelope aware from Richard "On the contrary, any evidence you might collect during your investigation could in turn help our security matters and protect our staff."

Sam turned to gaze out the window, annoyed at the situation. She wasn't really sure what good she would be on a case like this. She hadn't done anything like this, and she wasn't sure if _anyone_ had done a case like this. It seemed ridiculous.

But on the other hand, money was money. She would be at the opera anyway following Piagni; why not kill two birds with one stone?

Richard produced a small folder and passed it to her. "Tell you what Miss Cunningham; I'd like to invite you to be our guest for our next gala performance. I'll reserve you a seat."

"Oh that not really necessary…"

"I insist. I have arranged a special seat, in box five. The ghost's box. Perhaps it could convince you to take up our cause. If not, you are free to go about your prearranged business here."

Sam gave him a skeptical glance. "Either way it should be interesting."

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A/N: Thanks to my first reviewer. I'm glad you enjoyed my dry sense of humor

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